


Iron and Lace

by lea_hazel



Series: Decline and Fall [12]
Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Intrigue, Mind Games, Rebellion, Revaire, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-09-25 15:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: Strange events are afoot in Revaire, and Verity goes looking for a distraction, in the form of a promise yet to be fulfilled.





	1. The Chapel

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, the first part is set-up, the second part is the action.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verity rides into the city from Oaksbridge and has two curious conversations.

The Old Palace, she had often heard, was really more a castle than a palace, built like a fortress, a defensive structure, not an edifice to wealth and privilege. Never was that more apparent than when first entering it. After a wearying ride through the city, Verity and Lyta still had to make their way through the two latticed gates, up into the inner courtyard, where the stables were. Once she'd dismounted and left Lyta in the capable hands of a stable-boy, there were still the great stone steps, the massive, winged doors of weathered wood and black iron, and finally, the great hall.

In an old Revairian castle, the great hall was traditionally a gathering place for all the castle's residents, high and low. Great fires would burn in the enormous fireplace, and people would gather around long, wooden tables flanked by long, wooden benches. At least, that's how Verity imagined it. But the Old Palace's great hall had long since been converted to serve as the throne room and primary receiving hall for the King of Revaire. Two tall thrones on a dais loomed at its far end, and the grand old space between the door and the dais was crowded with hopeful petitioners.

At least, when it was open to the public, as it was today. For three days each month, subjects of any rank were permitted to bring their grievances before the King's justice, if they were willing to risk an unfavorable verdict. The royal family's reputation notwithstanding, days like these were never short of supplicants. Today was no different.

Verity's entrance into the crowded hall went entirely unremarked in the hubbub. That was well and fine by her. She didn't want to announce her return just yet.

"It seems we've arrived on a busy day," Gisette murmured just beside her. "Only an hour or so before sundown, and the crowds are as thick as I've ever seen them."

"The people of Starfall City have many grievances, it would seem," replied Verity.

Gisette scoffed. "Petty squabbles over grazing land or newborn lambs," she said. "No different than peasants' disputes ever have been."

Verity didn't bother mentioning that it was too deep in the winter for newborn lambs to be on anyone's mind, regardless of the mildness of the season.

"Well, sister," said Gisette, "if you find this sort of thing educational, by all means, stay and listen to my father impart his impartial judgment. I myself intend to wash off the dust of the road and reacquaint myself with the trappings of civilization."

That was a sure sign that she was up to some sort of scheme, but Verity didn't care much, for the moment. "Enjoy."

Gisette waved at her airily and melted into one of the side corridors, roughly in the direction of the baths. Once she was gone, Verity turned back to scanning the crowds. She didn't really expect to recognize any of the many faces in attendance, despite her illuminating ride through the city, earlier. Nearer the sidelines, though, she could spot some familiar-looking silhouettes. The young nobility normally found such affairs of state tedious, and Verity couldn't blame them. All such niceties, however, were to be forgotten under the right circumstances.

Anything the Crown Prince did was bound to be imitated, and Jarrod was even at that moment slouching against one of the great stone pillars that lined the hall, looking as ill-tempered as she'd ever seen him. Which was saying something, when it came to her husband. She considered how best to make herself known, but the crowds and the noise made it more difficult than she expected. She approached until she was only a pace or two away, and still he didn't notice her. His eyes were fixed on the dais and the throne on which his father sat, his mouth flattened into a small, angry line.

Verity took one last step forward and, resting her hand on his arm, said, "There you are."

"Where have you been?" he demanded, without so much as glancing in her direction. "I've been waiting for you for hours. You promised you wouldn't leave me here to be bored alone."

"I'm touched," said Verity. "I had no idea you'd miss me so much. I was only away for a week."

Finally he turned and looked at her, a hint of panic creeping into his face. "Verity."

"Yes," she said simply. "Who were you expecting?"

He glanced this way and that. "Where is my mother, and Gisette?"

"They had business elsewhere," she answered. "I came to see the proceedings, myself. And to see how you were doing, of course."

She didn't bother pressing the issue. She knew, of course, exactly who he'd been waiting for. Putting him on the spot wouldn't reveal any new information, and would be very likely to anger him. An angry Jarrod was an unknown quantity that she wasn't prepared to deal with at the moment, and so she let the matter slide.

"Weren't you meant to preside over these proceedings today?" she asked, her eyes darting back to the dais.

"I was," answered Jarrod, his face collapsing into a scowl, "but _he_ came back early."

"Has he been here the whole time?" asked Verity. "I thought the whole point of this exercise was to get you acquainted with the responsibilities of the throne."

Jarrod threw up his arms and said, "So did I!" loudly enough that several people in his vicinity startled, and turned to look at him.

He shot them such a nasty glare that they hurried to look away, one and all.

Verity glanced at the throne of the dais again, then averted her eyes, returning them to her grumpy husband and his sour face. "I did not expect to find the King returned so soon," she said mildly. "He left Oaksbridge in such a hurry, I was certain that whatever called him away must have been of the utmost urgency."

"Humiliating me is of urgency to him," muttered Jarrod in undertone.

"I doubt it," she replied.

Jarrod scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down his nose at her. "Do you really think you know his motivations better than I do? Don't be an idiot, Verity."

Not for the first time, Verity pushed down her anger at the careless insult. "If returning to Starfall City was so urgent to him, where has he been for the interim?" she asked, as calmly as she could.

Jarrod's brows snapped together. "What do you mean?"

"General Ayalah came to fetch him almost a week ago," said Verity. "They didn't ride straight back to the palace. They went somewhere else, first."

Now he was frowning again, and his eyes drifted away from her and back to the elevated throne. "Darius wasn't with him when he rode in."

He wasn't paying attention to her at all, which afforded her a slender opportunity to extract some additional information, without him realizing that she was interrogating him. Once he figured it out, the cause would be lost. She had to be careful. Not that she expected he knew much more than she did.

"When was that?" asked Verity.

"Yesterday," he answered distractedly, "some time after midday."

"He didn't mention the General to you?" she asked. "Where they went, or what called him away?"

Jarrod froze, and slowly turned back, rounding on her. "Why are you asking so many questions?" he demanded to know.

Verity shrugged one shoulder delicately. "Just curious."

"Curiosity is a very unappealing trait in a female," said Jarrod. "Stop it."

She bottled up her disappointment and asked, "Would you rather talk about something else?"

He scowled. "I'd rather you talked as little as possible."

That wasn't news to her. Her husband repeated such insults to her fairly regularly, whenever they were in conversation with each other. The closest to kindness he ever came was when he leavened his slights with a paper-thin compliment or two, such as when he ventured to say that she should sit quiet and look pretty. She supposed calling her ' _pretty_ ', which he very nearly had done, qualified as a compliment. Not the sort she was interested in, though, from her husband or from any man. In fact, the only thing she really wanted from him was answers, but if his defensiveness at her questioning was any indication, he knew less than she did about the situation.

"If you're in such ill temper, I'm not sure I should stay," said Verity mildly.

Her husband looked down his nose at her. "If you're bored, you're welcome to leave," he said. "There's no reason for you to know about the law and such. It's not as though you'll ever need it."

Verity clasped her hands, which were shaking with anger, to prevent him seeing the tremor. "Quite well," she said. "If that's what you'd like, then I'll be off, now. I suppose I shall see you at dinner."

He scowled. " _Dinner_ ," he said disgustedly. "Of course."

Perhaps he would rush into Nerissa's arms as soon as the proceedings concluded, and she would be spared his radiant presence at the dinner table. It would be a blessing. During her week in Oaksbridge she'd just about gotten used to the relatively peaceful meals with just the royal women present. Still, Nerissa was nominally her friend, and she couldn't wish it on her with a whole heart.

While her mind wandered, her feet wandered as well. She meandered away from the crowds and into one of the side passages, into the enclosed inner courtyard, past the kitchen and armory. With no fixed destination, she let whim carry her and made snap decisions about which turns to take. There was still so much of the Old Palace for her to see, to say nothing of the rest of the city. What little she'd seen of Starfall City's streets during her rides had troubled her, but she needed peace and quiet in order to untangle her thoughts. Somewhere she wouldn't be found, where no one would think to look for her.

 

* * *

 

The chapel was, unsurprisingly, empty. More surprising was to find that it was not only clean and well-maintained, but a spacious room, elegantly decorated and pleasant to sit in. Or would have been, except that the room held a certain eerie atmosphere of a place that is never frequented, although there was not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. It was not even gloomy. Rather, it was possibly the most well-lit room in the Old Palace, which was built for defense and not for luxury. Yet the chapel's eastern and western walls were both lined with tall windows made of thick glass, too thick and occluded to see through, but clear enough to let in the sunlight, which fell in generous beams over hewn stone pews and altar.

The strangest feature, to Verity's eye, was a wrought-iron sculpture of a tree, that stood in the dead center of the room, ahead even of the altar. It stood about as tall as a young fruit tree, and with its bare, dark branches could be mistaken from a distance for a natural tree that had shed its leaves for winter. There was a severe beauty to it that captured Verity's imagination. As she drew closer, she noticed that the iron branches were strung with narrow ribbons, interspersed with leaves of green silk. The overall effect was baffling to her aesthetic senses, but for some reason she couldn't tear her eyes away from it.

Verity knew, of course, that in some parts of Revaire people congregated to worship, not in chapels or temples but in groves of sanctified trees, some of them very ancient, and kept for generations. Logically, she knew that keeping a proper grove within the curtain wall of the Old Palace was impractical, and so the iron tree was obviously some innovative soul's idea of a compromise. It was a place for solemn contemplation of virtue, however rare a commodity that was in modern Revaire's royal court.

But the strings of silk leaves were so out of place, they made the sculpture's austere beauty somehow ridiculous, like reams of lace draped over plate mail.

Still, she advanced a few more steps into the deserted chapel. Here was a place where she could be alone with her thoughts. The Queen had retired to her apartments with a nerve headache, and would not require anything from her for the rest of the day. Princess Gisette was more than able to entertain herself. And her husband would not dream of searching the chapel of all places, if it even occurred to him to search for her at all. She was, for once, utterly alone.

The illusion lasted for a brief hour only, before the chapel's peaceful silence was broken by the thud of boots on flagstone.

Even the most preternaturally silent man in existence could not defeat the echo of the basilica's vaulted ceiling. The footsteps rebounded through the stone chamber and came to a rest just behind the stone pew on which she was sitting, hands clasped in her lap, and feet drawn beneath the hem of her skirt. The stone bench would have been cold and very unpleasant to sit on in winter, but luckily she was still wearing her riding habit, which was thicker and warmer than most of her clothing. Though the air inside was as crisp as out in the courtyard, the chill of the stone didn't seep into her bones as it might have done.

"You're back, I see," said Hyperion.

He was most likely standing just behind her shoulder, looming, as he was wont to do.

Verity kept her eyes fixed on the branches of the iron tree. The ironwork was much more intricate than she had noticed at a distance. She could have traced its patterns from branch to branch for many long, peaceful hours.

"I was expecting you would still be out and about the countryside," she replied, "dealing with whatever emergency had dragged you away to begin with. Or did you leave the General to handle the crisis on his own? I hope it wasn't anything too onerous."

"I had obligations in the capital," said Hyperion, "and the crisis I was dealing with is not the sort of thing you need to know about, so you can stop asking."

"The business of Revaire is my business," said Verity. "That's what being Crown Princess means. That, at least, is the impression that my father always gave me."

"Then your father is a fool," said the King, "just as I always suspected."

"This is what I was raised for," said Verity. "I wonder that I've never been in this room before."

"There are many rooms in my castle you've never been in, Verity," he replied. "Don't change the subject."

Ignoring his interjection, she asked, "Why wasn't the wedding ceremony held in here?"

"Only reigning kings of Revaire are wedded in the palace chapel," he answered. "I wonder that you would remember to ask this now. You're a few days late, I think."

"Will you tell me what made you leave Oaksbridge so abruptly?" she asked again, in the hope that the swift change of subject might startle a truthful answer from him, or at least a partial truth.

"That's men's business," said Hyperion. "Not for little princesses to worry about."

"But I'm a Crown Princess now," said Verity. "That's quite different."

"Why don't you ask your husband, then, Verity," said Hyperion sharply.

"I did," she replied.

That did startle him.

"He didn't want to admit that he didn't know, either," said Verity, "in case you were wondering. Not overtly, anyway."

She got up from the pew and circled the tree once, examining it from all angles. A few paces behind the sculpture stood an altar, massive and bulky and apparently cut right out of the stone beneath her feet. There was something primal and menacing about it. Verity had no doubt that if she'd come into the chapel alone at night, she would have ended up with the most awful nightmares.

But her own footsteps, even in hard-soled riding boots, did not disguise the sound of another pair of feet. He was shadowing her now, and she still didn't know so much as why he came looking for her. If indeed he did, but it was hard for her to imagine that King Hyperion of Revaire came into the Old Palace chapel to contemplate his better nature. If he had one, that is.

"You dropped your riding gloves," came his voice, behind and above her.

She turned around and held out her hand, and said, "I do wish you wouldn't loom like that. It's very uncomfortable."

He outstretched hand stayed empty. He wasn't holding her gloves at all. Verity flicked her eyes back to the pew where she'd been sitting. There they were, slumped sadly on the flagstones at its feet. She walked back smartly and bent over to pick them up, tucking them more securely into her pouch.

"You're very careless with your possessions, Verity," said Hyperion, who was now gazing up at the iron tree, hands locked behind his back.

"I never lose anything," she insisted primly.

He laughed.

"You still haven't told me why you came in here to interrupt my meditation," said Verity. "I don't suppose you were looking for me?"

He scoffed. "Of course not."

"Oh," she said. "Of course. I'd best be off to my business, then, and leave you to your solitary contemplation. You must have great matters of state to reflect on. I mustn't bother you."

"You're no bother, Verity," he said, "for once."

Verity stopped inching her way towards the chapel door when he averted his eyes from the iron tree and looked her way.

"I came here to welcome you home, naturally. Did you enjoy Oaksbridge, Verity?" he asked.

"I found it illuminating," she answered.

He turned and made in her direction.

"I hope you're not meaning to repay your debt now," said Verity. "Every slightest sound echoes abominably in this room."

"True," he said, a dangerous but familiar glint entering his eyes. "You'd have to be very, very quiet."

She shivered.

"If you're getting strange ideas, Verity," he said, smiling thinly, "about desecrating the sanctity of my beautiful chapel, that will have to wait. I have other business to attend to, today. I came to make sure that my Crown Princess returned from her travels more or less in one piece. Since my wife does not seem to have found any useful occupations for you today, I expected to find you wandering the castle, somewhere where you clearly don't belong. And I was right."

"Naturally," said Verity. "You saw me in the throne room and immediately guessed that I would be headed to the chapel, even though I've never frequented it in the past half a year?"

"Actually, I had placed my bets on the kitchens," he replied. "Did you ride the whole way back from Oaksbridge?"

"Gisette's idea," said Verity dryly. "I suspect she had some secret appointment she didn't want to miss. Or perhaps she simply doesn't like hunting half as much as she pretends."

"Since I missed the opportunity to witness you try and hunt," said Hyperion, "I will have to satisfy my curiosity some other way."

Now he was advancing on her with his customary long stride. He was before her in a breath and a half.

"I don't think it's my job to entertain you," said Verity.

"Oh," said Hyperion, "but you do it so effortlessly. You're infuriating, Verity. Did you know that?"

"I'm glad," she replied, "that I'm not the only one deriving frustration from our interactions."

He bent down his head close to her ear and said, "I did offer to solve your frustration problem, Verity, and you turned me down. You seemed to think that it would be--"

"--Too loud," said Verity. "Yes."

He straightened up, assuming his usual looming pose. "And so I have decided to generously give you a reprieve," he said, "from our unfinished business. But if I change my mind, Verity, remember that I know exactly where to find you."

She shivered. She didn't really believe he would come to her room that night, but the thought was inescapable, on all its attendant thrills and apprehensions. Rather, she thought, as he turned on his heel and marched out of the chapel, he meant the opposite of what he said. As he often did, in fact. If she wanted to find him, she would know where to go looking. And he was right, the infuriating man. She knew exactly where he expected her to look for him. If she did go looking, he would probably be there already, waiting for her.

These thoughts were not very peaceful, and the silence of the chapel suddenly felt sulky and close. Verity stayed there only long enough to be sure that no one lingering outside would make note of it, and resolved to spend what was left of the day in the gardens. Soon enough she would have to return to her room and dress for dinner, but she preferred to put off that inevitability. Her riding habit, once she'd broken it in, was by far the most comfortable garment she owned, to say nothing of her riding corset, almost infinitely less constricting than the ones she encased herself in most days.

The peace of the garden was very partial, but at least she was alone with her thoughts. The winter sky was clear above her, bright blue and sharp with promise. It was cold, but the garden's stone walls kept out the worst of the wind. For a moment, she even managed to pretend as though she could forget about the King of Revaire and the ominous promise he had made to her, those months ago.

But she didn't really want to forget, and that night after dinner she found her way back to the library.


	2. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise fulfilled.

Six months in Revaire had brought considerable improvements to the state of Verity's personal book collection. She had really no legitimate excuse to be in the library, anymore. She certainly wasn't looking for books, and it was a pitiful collection in any case. But she also didn't believe for a moment that the King and Queen of Revaire kept track of her personal purchases, and so neither of them had any cause to suspect that she was spending time there for anything but the most obvious reason.

Quietly, Verity slipped into the library, slipped into a soft chair in the corner, and even slipped off her shoes to sit more comfortably. The library was empty, and quiet. Seeing that she was alone, she curled her feet up on the seat, tucking them under her skirt, and cracked open the first book that came to hand. Despite her disparagement, she couldn't help but sink into the words on the page once they were before her, just as she couldn't help but startle when the door flung open with a bang.

Hyperion stalked into the room with huge, predatory steps, stopping in its very center and turning to face the door. Violetta stood in the doorway, arms crossed over the expansive embroidery of her bodice. Her whole stance spoke of profound disinterest.

"I don't see why any of it needs to be my problem," said Hyperion. "I told you that the girls' affairs are your concern, and yours alone. If something needs to be done about her, then _do_ something."

Verity was just on the verge of taking offense that she was being spoken of, _again_ , in her presence as though she weren't there, when two thoughts occurred to her in quick succession. The first was that neither the King or Queen spared her the least glance. She was as certain as could be that Hyperion had seen and noted her presence. Had he not as much as told her that he knew she would be there? She was less certain of the Queen. Sitting as she was in the corner nearest to the room's entrance, Verity suspected that the open door did not quite hide her, but did make her presence easy to ignore.

The second thought that occurred to her was that ' _the girls_ ' had to mean herself and Gisette. Whatever it was that one of them had done that required the royals' personal handling, it could just as easily be in reference to Gisette as to herself. Though Gisette had poised herself as the golden child of the family, especially in comparison to her brother, it was not beyond comprehension that she would have earned her parents' ire, somehow. Especially the temperamental and uncertain Queen Violetta. This proved to be a very interesting thought, and Verity resolved to examine it in greater detail later on.

For now, however, her mind was occupied with her eavesdropping. Not terribly fruitful, she had to assume, if Hyperion had calculated her presence in the room into his words. She would not be learning any great state secrets tonight, she knew, especially not whatever it was that had interrupted their oh-so idyllic family hunting excursion. Anything she overheard would only be as much as Hyperion was willing to allow her to know, although that in itself could prove an interesting thought.

What was it that he considered it safe for her to know? Just how dangerous did he deem her? Verity didn't really believe that he concealed from her for her own protection, nor because he thought she was too dumb to understand. Although on that last one, perhaps it was her vanity speaking, and not her good sense.

"There's nothing I can do about it!" said Violetta, throwing up her hands. "Don't talk to me about it anymore. I don't want to hear another word. If you want to know where she is, you can find her yourself. You know the castle like the back of your hand, don't you?"

With that, she stormed out of the room, letting the door slam behind her.

The latch had not yet clicked when Verity felt his eyes upon her. Blood crept up her neck and flooded her face.

"And there you are at last," he said.

He was watching her with such intensity that his eyes fairly bored into her skin. Verity couldn't help but shiver. Still, she kept her voice light and airy when she made reply.

"Were you not expecting me?" she asked.

He scoffed. "I didn't doubt it for a moment."

By some great feat of willpower, Verity managed to flick her gaze to the closed door, and then back at him. "What was that all about?"

Hyperion scowled. "Just the usual family histrionics. Every female in my life is determined to drive me mad. I hope you don't intend to join their ranks, Verity."

"I'm sure you've had a very provoking day," she said soothingly.

He took three long strides in her direction, until he was standing just over her, looming as usual. "Does that tone of voice typically work as intended?" he asked, scowling down at her.

"It worked on my husband," said Verity, "often enough."

"You haven't even been married for two weeks, Verity," he said. "Don't be a fool. And _what_ have you done with your shoes?"

Verity untucked her feet from under her and laid them flat on the floor, near where her shoes were sitting neatly side-by-side. "I didn't realize you were so offended by stockinged feet. I'll have them shod again in just a moment, if you please."

As she was leaning down to pick up her slippers he reached out, seizing her hand by the wrist in an iron grip.

"Don't provoke me," he said softly. "Not today."

"I don't like this game," said Verity, her voice just as soft, and her eyes fixed on the toes of her stockings.

At that, he could only laugh. "Did I scare you, little princess? I thought I told you more than once that I'm used to getting what I want."

She kept her eyes on her feet and didn't say anything.

Shifting his grip on her arm to the other hand, he reached down to smooth the hair back from her forehead, then held her by the chin, tilting her face up to his. "Look at me, Verity."

She met his eyes, though reluctantly.

He held her gaze as he held her arm, his hard gray eyes staring down into hers, and made no sign of letting up.

Verity hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she pushed it out in a soft sigh. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"My daughter has chosen an ill-advised time to assert her independence," said Hyperion, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb as he spoke. "That is all."

"Gisette?" asked Verity.

A strange look flitted over his face, so briefly that she almost thought she imagined it. "Yes, of course. I only have one daughter, Verity."

"You're not mad at me," she said. "I didn't do anything."

"No," he said, his fingertips trailing down to skim over the lace of her collar. "Of course not."

"Will you let go of my arm?" she asked.

He smiled a thin, razor-sharp smile. "No, I don't think so."

By now she had learned something of his habits, and she wasn't nearly so startled when he pulled her up by her wrist. She wobbled only slightly, balancing on her stocking-clad feet, and grabbed a handful of the front of his coat to steady herself.

"There, now," said Hyperion. "There's no need to crease it, you know."

"I wouldn't," said Verity, "except you seem to delight in keeping me off-balance."

He smoothed his hand down the side of her bodice, humming thoughtfully. "Yes, it _is_ very entertaining. You're wearing too many clothes, Verity. What have I told you about dresses with high collars?"

"Hmm," said Verity. "Let me try to remember. Something about them being in fashion, and that if my gowns were out of style I was an embarrassment to Revaire and to the royal family."

"And to your venerable Arland ancestors," said Hyperion. "Take it off."

Verity tilted her head slightly and looked up at him.

"The jacket, Verity," he said with exaggerated patience.

Her bodice was a masterpiece of chocolate brown stenciled velvet, fastened down the front with a row of perfect mother-of-pearl buttons.

She glanced up at him. "I will need both hands for that, I should think."

"Or I could just tear the buttons off," he offered.

"Very subtle," said Verity, and gave her trapped arm an experimental tug.

He sighed deeply, assuming an aggrieved expression, but dropped her wrist like a hot coal all the same.

"Thank you," she said, rubbing at her wrist with her free hand, although it didn't really hurt.

"I told you not to be dramatic," said Hyperion.

"That's a gem," replied Verity, "coming from the man who just threatened to rip my clothing off."

"Not a threat," he said, "a promise."

She slipped open the top button, which was stitched just over her left shoulder, and let it slide out of the perfectly stitched button hole. Then she paused and glanced up at him.

He didn't move a muscle. "I have all night, Verity."

She opened a second button and paused again. Then a third one. She wondered how committed she was to this course of action, how long she could really draw it out, and whether it would be worth it. The carved mother of pearl felt smooth under her fingertips. She heard muffled footsteps and glanced up in time to see Hyperion settle into the chair behind the big desk, at the far end of the room.

The whole display felt suddenly revolting. She snapped open the rest of the buttons rather more quickly and pulled off one sleeve, then the other.

"Now come here."

She paused one more time, just to fold the jacket with deliberate care and rest it on the cushion of the chair she'd recently been occupying.

"Verity," said Hyperion, his voice low and tense.

" _I don't have all night_." she said.

She heard a rustle of fabric, as if he were shifting restlessly. "If that was supposed to be an impression of me, it was terrible," he informed her.

She turned back around, straightening up. He examined her from head to toe, not making the least effort to disguise it. Not that he would. The least that could be said about Hyperion was that he'd never been anything but honest about his desire for her.

"Would you like a moment to criticize the rest of my clothing," she asked, "or will this do?"

"Get over here and find out," he answered.

She was still barefoot, and her steps made no noise against the thick rug. Only the hem of her skirt rustled quietly now and then as it brushed the floor. She stopped half a step away and toyed with the temptation of sitting up on the desk's vast, empty top surface. Usually when Verity saw it it was covered in maps and other papers, but she'd noticed more than once how ridiculously oversized it was. And, if she were to be honest, she'd harbored indecent thoughts about it more than once.

Hyperion, however, preferred to have her sitting in his lap. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he pulled her close, impressing a line of light kisses up her neck. Heat from his body suffused her, seeping through the thin fabric of her blouse, and she breathed out a small sigh.

"What took you so long?" she asked.

He trailed his hand down the laces that fastened her blouse closed. "Hmm?"

Verity shifted, balancing her palms flat against his chest, and looked down at him. "I had thought that you'd come chasing me down the day after the wedding."

"The very next morning, I imagine," he said, smiling indulgently. "I'm a very busy man, Princess. I don't have the luxury of playing idle games whenever the fancy strikes."

"But you always get what you want?" she asked.

He slid his hand up her back to grip the back of her neck, drawing her deeper in. "Eventually," he said. "I would have liked to get around to this much sooner, I'll admit that much."

This time she was the one to close the small distance between him, putting her mouth to his in a kiss that he wasted no time deepening. Verity leaned into him, closing her hands on the back of the chair behind his head. She was breathless and dizzy when she pulled free, drawing just a small distance between them, a space in which to steady her breath and her nerves. Both efforts thwarted when Hyperion sank his face into the crook of her neck, breathing deeply.

"You smell like sin," he whispered in her ear.

"It's jasmine, actually," she said, mustering a composure she didn't feel. "Petra mixes it for me."

He laughed, and his breath tickled her skin until she squirmed.

"Stop that," he said sternly. "I'm not nearly done with you."

"Good," said Verity. "I'm not nearly done, either."

"Is that so?" he said. "Let's see if we can mend that, shall we?"

Somehow, in the midst of everything else, he had learned the pattern of laces creeping down her back, and now he pulled them loose effortlessly. Linen and lace slid down her shoulder, along with the ribbon of her chemise. Hyperion kissed a path down her throat, all the while pulling at the laces on her back. She twined her hands in his hair, pulling him lower. Her stays were steel and bone, and far too convoluted for her to put to rights on her own, but the boning only went up so high. When he peeled back the soft part of the cup, he could still kiss the top of her breast.

Verity gasped, her hand tightening in his hair.

Hyperion straightened up to look her in the eye. "No mauling, Verity, " he said severely.

"What about _no biting_?" she asked.

"It won't leave a mark," he said, smiling. "I'm quite certain."

Verity doubted he could reasonably be so certain, but it was not as though Jarrod was terribly likely to see any marks on her skin. The first day or two after the wedding were tense, but it was not too long before he resumed his natural habit of having no interest in her whatsoever. Not that she was planning to say as much to Hyperion. He was an observant man. Whatever he wanted to know about his son's personal habits, he could figure out on his own.

Just then, the man himself puffed a hot breath on her neck that sent shivers down her spine.

"Try not to get distracted, Verity," he whispered, and nipped her ear.

She bit back a moan, dragging her fingers down his back.

"That's better."

"You're insufferable," she informed him. "If you want my undivided attention, talking is not the way to get it."

"Is that so?" said Hyperion.

With no warning, he picked her up and deposited her on the desk before him, in roughly the same position she had been contemplating earlier. Verity squeaked when her bottom his the polished wood surface. Heat crawled up her neck to her face when she remembered her earlier thoughts. Hyperion was taking off his jacket, flicking the buttons open two at a time. Obviously, he was not unaffected.

Once he'd discarded his jacket, he caught her leg around the ankle and started climbing up the calf, his hands gliding over her silk stocking. He untied the garter with one tug and slowly rolled it down her leg. By the time the tangled silk dropped to the floor, her breath was coming in short. She dug her fingers into the carved edge of the desk while he gave the same attention to her other leg. When he was finished, he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her.

She reached for him, but her wrapped his long fingers around her wrist, holding her hand away.

"Not yet," he said.

Resting his hands on her knees, he spread her legs and sank down to kneel between them, then turned his face and kissed her thigh, just above the knee. Verity drew in a sharp breath at the contact, and felt his answering laugh, low and reverberating, on her skin. She gasped at each and every kiss as he made his slow, leisurely way up her thighs, and let herself fall back to rest against the wooden surface beneath her. When his tongue flicked against the crease of her thigh, she fully moaned and couldn't hold it back.

"Don't you dare stop there!" she said.

But he had no such idea. He split her open with two fingers and in a moment his hot mouth was on her and she whimpered, grabbing at his shoulders with both hands. Her thighs clenched and her breath went ragged, fire lancing up her body, making her back arch. For one long moment she lost all sense of when and where she was, feeling nothing but her tensing muscles and the coiling heat in her belly. Her voice wavered and her fingernails bit deep into his shirtsleeves before she went tumbling over the edge.

Verity laid on the desk, boneless and panting, and let Hyperion smugly watch her wind down from her peak.

"I had hoped you'd scream my name," he said, "but there's still time for that. You didn't think I was done with you, did you, little princess? Not after all these months of patient waiting."

She said nothing. She was still trying to catch her breath.

His fingers trailed down her inner thigh, the feather-light touch on her sensitized skin making her shiver. She gripped the edge of the desk with both hands and hauled herself back up to a sitting position. The layers of her skirt and petticoats bunched between them when he leaned forward to kiss her, his mouth still wet with her arousal. It was more the thought of it than the taste that made her moan into the kiss. She wound her arms around his neck and he pulled her tight against himself, pressing against her, warm and solid and insistent. He needed her, she knew, as much as she needed him.

He kissed her neck and whispered, "I like to see you come apart. Let's see if we can manage that one more time, shall we?"

With that last warning, he slid his hands down from her waist, down her legs, and under her skirt. His fingertips fluttered over her damp skin, then something else did. Verity let her eyes drift shut, swallowing another moan that was bubbling up her throat.

"Open your eyes, Verity," he said, his breath close and warm by her ear. "I want you to look at me."

With a concentrated effort, she managed to keep her eyes open. He was watching her with his usual intensity, with a sharp, fixed gaze and a hard smile. When he entered her she felt split open and she cried out, hastily muffling herself by pressing her face into his shoulder, a mouthful of shirt to keep her voice down. He held her for a brief moment while she panted into the fine linen of his shirt, her hands clenching and unclenching. All too soon he pushed on, deeper into her. She couldn't tell at first if she liked it or not. Odd, after all the hours she had wasted dreaming about this very thing.

She wondered whether she really wanted what she'd thought she wanted.

A lance of something like pain shot through her, head to toe, like lightning and she cried out again.

"Please!" she said, but she didn't know what she was asking for.

Hyperion gripped her by the back of the neck and pulled her face closer to his.

"Does it hurt too much?" he asked, his voice rough and his breath coming in short pants. "It's only meant to hurt a little, you know. That's what you want."

"How do you know that what I want is pain?" she asked.

He smiled his hard, cold smile. "Just a little pain, you know," he said. "You wouldn't be here, otherwise."

"Just--" she struggled to put her mind in order, with the heat of his body and the scent of him muddling her thoughts. "Slow down? Please."

Hyperion groaned, and his voice was ragged when he answered. "You're lucky that your mouth makes the prettiest little pouting shape when you beg, Verity. It's dangerous to tease a man in my position."

He shifted just a little, moving inside her, and she let slip a small moan, her arms tightening around his neck. His hands on her thighs clenched in a vise grip. She knew suddenly that there would be blue hand-print bruises blooming on her skin, sometime in the next day or two. For a moment she imagined Petra's face when she saw them, and almost giggled. Then he moved again, and she had to stifle her voice into his chest.

As he drove into her he said, "I shouldn't have let you come before, Verity. You've decided to be difficult and it's highly-- unbecoming."

She could have shot back with an insolent retort, but instead she turned her face just slightly and said, "Don't stop."

She could not say that he was easy on her, but he was less rough, moving in slow, deep strokes that pushed every button inside her. He tensed when he thought she might climax again, driving deep into her and whispering crude encouragement in a husky voice. In response Verity arched her back, pressing closer to him, and caught her heels behind his knees. The groan he breathed into the sensitive skin of her throat reverberated through her body like an earthquake.

"You little--" he huffed, his forehead still sinking onto her shoulder. "You'll be the death of me, Verity, do you know?"

She laughed breathlessly and said, "One can only hope."

When he leaned in to kiss her neck, she dragged her fingers down his back, finding that he'd sweated right through his shirt. She dug her fingers in, holding on. He moved in shallow, uneven thrusts, his breath rough and ragged.

"You'll be the death of me," he whispered again.

"Wait," said Verity. "Please, I'm so close."

Hyperion scraped his teeth over the skin of her neck and, holding his mouth close to her ear, whispered, "Show me that you were worth the wait."

Her hands curled into his back, fingernails digging in. "Please," she said, over and over. "Oh, please."

He finished a moment before she did, and collapsed, panting into her neck. He rested his head on her shoulder for a moment, then turned his face and nuzzled her throat. Verity's throat was raw, and every inch of her skin felt like it had just been struck with lightning. But the weight of his larger body leaning into her, pinning her against the heavy desk, was getting to be oppressive. Steeling herself, Verity untangled her hands from his shirt and pressed them palm flat on his chest, shoving lightly.

"Devil girl," he murmured in her ear. "Trying to get rid of me already?"

"The opposite," she said. "I was certain that once you were satisfied you would lose all interest in me."

"Oh," said Hyperion, "no."

He braced against the desk and pushed away from her, setting himself briskly to the task of putting his clothing to rights.

Verity tilted her head and regarded him. "Are you not satisfied?" she asked.

He pinned her with a hard stare. "Extremely."

She slid down from her position on the desk and shook out her bunched-up skirts. She was just about to bend down and fetch her discarded stockings when he stepped in to crowd her. Placing one hand on the desk to either side of her, he leaned in and softly brushed his mouth against hers.

"Don't think that I'm done with you, Verity," he said. "Nothing could be farther from the truth."

"Lucky me," she murmured.

He smoothed his flat palms all the way down her back, grasped her bottom with both hands, and gave it a good squeeze. "Oh, yes," he whispered into her hair, "lucky you."

Verity let her eyes flutter shut for just a moment, the heat and scent of him washing over her. Before long, though, she snapped them back open and straightened up. Again she pressed her hands against his chest, shoving him backwards. She was nowhere near strong enough to force him back and they both knew it, so it only made him laugh an indulgent laugh.

"You're adorable when you try to do that, you know," he said. "Really. If I wasn't so busy, might decide to teach you a lesson." He brushed her hair out of her face, idly tucking it behind her ear. "However," he said, "I do have grave matters of state to attend to, and you ought to be on your way."

"I do need my stockings," she said, when he didn't make move to let her pass.

"Mmm," he murmured in agreement, "and your shoes. Don't forget those. It's undignified for a Crown Princess to pad around the palace in her besocked feet."

He did let her out then, and pretended not to watch while she tidied herself up and slipped out of the room. She couldn't quite put herself to rights, not in her state, but she did manage an acceptable substitute. It would not hold up to any kind of scrutiny, she knew, especially not the Queen's. So it was a short but tense walk back to her rooms, where Petra was waiting for her with a basin of steaming water and a night cap. Verity wondered more than once during her long-short walk whether it was really all worth it. She knew it was sensible to say no, but still couldn't quite convince herself of it.

When she gently shut the door behind her, Petra swept her in a single up-and-down look and sighed audibly.

"At least I sent the younger girls to get their supper," she said. "I had a feeling you might need some out of the ordinary privacy when you got back, although not quite of this kind."

"Oh," said Verity, pressing her hands to her cheeks. "Petra, have you not had time to get supper?"

"I'll eat after I've seen to you, milady," replied Petra. "Don't you worry."

"We're not expecting company tonight," said Verity. "I can manage my own bedtime rituals."

"And yet," said Petra, and after a long, reluctant pause added, "milady."

She raised an eyebrow at her. Competent or not, Petra was still just a maid.

Petra sighed again. "I hope you know what you're doing, Princess."

Verity also sighed. "Jarrod won't be showing up tonight, as I said," she replied. "He's kept rather busy, what with fucking Nerissa. He thinks I don't know."

The maid only nodded tersely at this.

"He doesn't even like me," said Verity, "nor find me particularly attractive, as far as I can tell. And I'm not about to hold myself to a higher standard of fidelity than I do him. Not for the sake of a marriage of state."

"You're unbothered by his transgression," said Petra, no question at all in her voice.

Verity shrugged. "I don't own him. As long as he doesn't embarrass me in public... Honestly, it's almost a relief."

"He wouldn't feel the same way, if he knew about your indiscretions," said Petra.

"Which is why he's never going to know about them," replied Verity.

Petra sighed again and repeated, "I hope you know what you're doing."


End file.
